


The Art of Implying Feelings

by Exorciststuck



Series: Johndaveweek 2017 [6]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, johndaveweek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 19:08:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11447196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exorciststuck/pseuds/Exorciststuck
Summary: "Dad always said that the best way to show someone your feelings is to cook for them.”Dave takes some indirect fatherly advice.





	The Art of Implying Feelings

Six months ago, Dave had scoured the internet in search of a place to live in Japan, and a roommate to share that place and the rent with. Six months ago, he’d met John Egbert, whose hair was pitch black until a sunray pierced it and let it shine brown, whose eyes were a perplexing shade of blue that stood out even behind the overlarge black frames on his face, whose mischievous smile scrunched up his whole face but still couldn’t quite crease the smoothness of his cheeks. John Egbert, who invited him into the apartment and took him on an evening walk to point out all the places that were familiar from his childhood, eagerly slipping into Japanese only to catch himself and switch back apologetically.

John Egbert, who insistently cooked every dinner in their shared apartment, barely letting Dave enter the kitchen to help no matter how much Dave insisted he was an alright cook.

At first, Dave had assumed it was a protective behaviour, that the kitchen itself and everything in it was sacred to John and could only be touched by his hands. But during lunch, he had no qualms letting Dave make himself a meal, and when Dave questioned the especially flashy and important looking utensils- the kanji engraved knives, the marble mortar and pestle- John had only raised an eyebrow and casually replied, “because they’re good quality? Jeez Dave.”

It took a Friday night spent together for him to actually learn the reason why, after the two of them had gotten a bit too tipsy on a bottle of sake and become sleepy and affectionate from the large bowl of variety tempura John had carefully made before. Dave had watched him while he’d cooked, staring in wonder as John dropped everything from shrimp to eggplant to, in one disastrous case, a few cherry tomatoes into a delicately boiling vat of oil. They’d gotten down to only crumbs of flaked batter left in the bottom of the bowl, the two of them sitting close to each other and laughing when Dave had blurted out suddenly, “why do you always make dinner? And why can’t I help?”

And John had laughed, bubbly and light like the oil he’d cooked their meal in, his hand rubbing slow, lazy circles onto Dave’s knee. “I just want you to know how much I like you being here! Dad always said that the best way to show someone your feelings is to cook for them.”

He’d dozed off slumped against Dave’s shoulder, while the words he said echoed inside Dave’s mind. After that, every meal John cooked for him tasted just a little bit better, like he’d discovered how to pick a rare and delicate spice out of every bite. Food became almost an obsession for him when it was made by John, matched only by the growing realisation that he was falling hard for the handsome, messy haired roommate in question.

It was John’s words that inspired him to try and express that feeling of adoration through food. 

Gathering the ingredients for a meal most common on another continent was both easier and harder than Dave had expected. The fish had been predictably simple to find, to the point where he’d stood there deliberating between three types of white fish before settling on _namazu_ , Japanese catfish. As well, the vegetables and spices he’d wanted were common even in Japan. Carrots, potatoes, celery, garlic, peppers, onion, and fish stock- none of the ingredients were particularly difficult to find or expensive to buy. In fact, some were already present in their own kitchen. He’d even managed to find tomatillos at a small import grocery store the owner of a Mexican restaurant had pointed him towards after he’d asked her where she managed to find the ingredients for the foods on her menu. 

The hardest part had been getting cilantro, which was odd considering he’d definitely eaten it at a restaurant since his move. Still, after leaving three grocery stores empty handed he’d ended up purchasing an actual cilantro plant, which received a place of honour on his bedroom windowsill. At least he would be able to have cilantro on hand whenever he wanted now, as long as he kept it alive.

Ingredients laid out on the counter for him to keep track of, Dave began to cook. It was right as he’d taken a knife to the potatoes for chopping that John had walked into their shared apartment and immediately stopped in the doorway, breathing in the smell. Dave stopped, a bit nervous that John would be frustrated at his position of dinner chef being taken, but he’d only walked up to the counter and leaned over curiously to see the simmering pot on stove, full of all the seasonings he’d gathered for the broth base. 

He eyed the pile of ingredients Dave had gathered next, lifting the can of tomatillos. “Is it Mexican?”

“Yeah, _caldo de pescado_ , it’s fish stew. No peanuts.”

“It smells good,” John’s smile was soft, and Dave felt his cheeks grow warm, his heart beating faster in his chest at the admission. Suddenly feeling shy at the attention, he bowed his head under the pretense of continuing to chop vegetables. 

He finally understood why John would never let him help cook. As he added the fish and vegetables and worked on making the salsa, he couldn’t help but think about how excited he was to share the meal he’d made with John. It was a potent feeling of pride, mingling with something almost paternal that made him feel happy that the product of his labour would be fueling someone he cared strongly about. Then, like the garnish on top, there was the ever present and incredibly potent romantic intent he held inside him, which wanted so badly to be noticed and craved by John, and hoped beyond hope that this meal would help accomplish that goal.

It was similarly satisfying to carry everything to the table while the stew finished. Especially once he saw John rise from the living room and settle in the kitchen, going about the motions to get down bowls from their cupboards for the meal. When he handed them over, Dave couldn’t help but notice how much tension had drained from him, like even one hour less in the kitchen had done wonders for his energy.

Dave poured them drinks (just water, although he had soy milk on hand should the food prove to spicy for either of them- however unlikely that was,) and set them on the table with the bowl of salsa he’d made. Only then did he ladle the stew into bowls, ensuring that by the time he’d placed one on John’s waiting placemat and taken a seat across from him it was still steaming hot. The smell was painfully nostalgic, drawing him back to the home he’d left, where the winters were milder and he knew all his neighbours. But it was different too, mingled with the omnipresent smells of their home, and when he came back to John was blowing on the bowl, his glasses fogged up from his proximity to the hot liquid.

Dave made a show of serving himself some of the salsa (he didn’t want to try and imply that John wouldn’t know what to do with it, but he honestly had no idea if John would,) and then went quiet, watching in deep anticipation to see how John would react.

He would have felt odd about watching so intently, but after months of John doing the same to him during dinner, it had just become another thing that he used to tolerate and now, after working so hard on this meal, was a thing that he completely understood. 

John recognized it as well, and laughed with his spoon hovering in midair. “It’s just really hot! I promise I’m not trying to stall.”

His foot brushed against Dave’s ankle under the table, forcing him to shift his attention from that hovering spoon towards those bright eyes. Dave swallowed, lifting his own spoonful of stew. “Everything is better burning hot, gotta teach yourself some goddamn patience. Anyway, you know how it is, haven’t cooked properly in a while so it’s fucking terrifying feeding you. Which, damn, I’m surprised you didn’t kick me out so you could cook again, you goddamn monster chef.”

“Hey! Don’t call me a monster, you love my cooking! Besides, aren’t you glad you didn’t start cooking until after you’d been in Japan long enough to start reading food labels clearly?”

“Look, that’s beside the point, I-“ He went quiet, the words falling right out of his mouth as John took his first bite of the first meal Dave had cooked for him. Suddenly, the presence of John’s foot against his skin was all the more pressing, the warmth of it a constant as he waited, time seeming to slow down.

And perhaps it was overdramatic, but it was like a weight had been lifted off of him when John groaned his approval, digging back in for another spoonful enthusiastically, immediately burning himself on his next attempt after he’d tried so hard to avoid it. 

He took a big drink of water, and then eagerly exclaimed, “Dave! It’s good!”

“Damn, I couldn’t tell you thought so from the way you just burned your tongue trying to eat like a dying man eating food for the first time in his fucking life, thanks for letting me know,” he felt like he was glowing from pride, hiding his face by looking at his food. “I’m glad, y’know. It’s a special meal, reminds me of being a kid. You’re the only person who’s not in my family I’ve made it for.”

“You know?” John blew on his spoon, taking another careful mouthful. “I can tell Dave, it tastes special.”

Dave rolled his eyes, letting his own foot brush against John. “That was kind of the point and all, since I think you’re pretty special. Now shut up and eat before it gets cold.”

**Author's Note:**

> day six!!!
> 
> if it wasn't explicitly clear, john is japanese and dave is mexican!  
> thank you to dzu for teaching me a good authentic recipe for dave to make! they are forever a blessing to this earth


End file.
